The Trillium Thief

The last two years before we moved from Portland to Sacramento my wife was determined to keep us healthy by taking regular hikes along the 22 miles of trails in Forrest Park. These trails are very steep and the forest is quite wild, yet it’s right there off 23^rd street in downtown Portland, though it feels like being out in the middle of nowhere. We saw many natural wonders on those trails and one day there were a bunch of pretty little three-petal flowers in bloom so I picked one.

Then on the way back to the car we were confronted by a self-appointed Park Ranger. “You’re not supposed to pick that flower!” We stopped short in the trail dumbstruck, me standing there like Yogi Bear with the pilfered picnic basket. “Those are Trillium flowers and they only bloom once every 7 years, don’t you know?” Again we stood in silent disbelief hoping to avoid criminal prosecution. “So now what should we do?” was my best effort at a clever response. She must have heard the remorse in my voice as she suddenly and silently turned to go as if her job was done.

Back at the car I felt like a murderer with a dead corpse. Should I leave it there or take it along home and risk further punishment. They might have a road block already setup… There was no way to enjoy the spoils of my stolen booty now. I should have known better. This wasn’t my first experience with rare flowers. The Mountain Lily grows in the high sierra where I grew up and we had to drive miles to see even one and then for only one week each summer. We scorned the city slickers who dared to pick one and now I was the ignorant despoiler. The only difference is there were lots and lots of trillium out that day.

The Trillium incident reminded me of my evolution from blood thirsty big game hunter in my youth to passive picture shooter in my later years. I am no vegetarian by any means but I can’t bring myself to kill the animals anymore. I had to quit because they kept looking back at me, but I remember thinking, “…at least I can still fish”. And then later on even the fish were looking back at me and I had to quit fishing, but I could still squash a bug. But no, even the insects finally got a good look at me and it’s come down to the flowers; I can’t even kill a Trillium without feeling bad. Now I can’t even kill time without looking over my shoulder at the clock.